


The Changeling

by Abi_A



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Faerie!Graves, Faeries - Freeform, M/M, Minor Newt Scamander/Original Percival Graves, Obscurial Credence Barebone, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Unseelie Court
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi_A/pseuds/Abi_A
Summary: Graves takes Newt roughly by the arm. “And say my name out loud again, wizard, and Covenant be damned, it’ll be your neck I cut next.”akaThe Faerie!Graves AU nobody wanted but me.





	The Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not an expert on faerie folklore, so this is going to be a bunch of stuff thrown in, influences include but not limited to: Discworld, Labyrinth, The Last Unicorn, works of Neil Gaiman, a whole lot of fairy tales, and random things I've picked up over the years. Pure Id!fic. 
> 
> I just wanted a faerie!Graves. *shrugs* 
> 
> Thanks to [emthrys](https://emthrys.tumblr.com/) for giving this the once over and encouragement; and special thanks to her brother's extremely long eyelashes for getting me to post this now.

 

 _My mother said I never should_  
_Play with faeries in the wood._

* * *

  
  
The soul of a forsaken child is a powerful thing. A beautiful thing. A terrible thing.

  
No one should have been able to live that long with a swirling black cloud of rage within them, anger and pain and sadness made corporeal. No one should have been able to survive the violence with which it had burst out of him. No one should have been able to survive the onslaught the aurors had dealt him, and yet Credence had.

He stands at the door of Newt’s family home, twisting his hat between his hands awkwardly. He looks like he wants to ask them if they have time to speak about the Lord.

“Yes?” Theseus says, kindly but impatiently. “Are you collecting for something?”

“Theseus, this is Credence,” Newt says, finding his voice. “Remember, I told you about the - uh - the Obscurial?”

“I say!” Theseus’ eyebrows almost shoot up to his hairline. “Well, I suppose you’d better come in.”

 

* * *

   
After Newt explains who Credence is, he’s accepted into the family so easily and so readily that Credence sometimes thinks he’s dreaming. He thinks he’s going to wake up any moment and be back in his tiny, drafty room in the church tower with Ma standing over him, ready to smack him with her ladle for sleeping too late.

Mrs Scamander is about as different a mother to Ma as can be. She seems to encourage her sons ‘eccentricities’ rather than try to beat them out of them. At first Credence is shocked at the off hand casual way her sons speak to her, and of her. She doesn’t track their comings and goings. When Theseus is working late or out on the town he hardly bothers to tell anyone. Sometimes he won’t be home for days, but his mother simply shrugs.

“He’s a grown man,” she tells Credence, with a knowing smile. “And he’s more than capable of looking out for himself. He went away to war once. After that, I’ll never be worried about him being gone for a night or two. And who knows where Newt goes on his beastly quests? We’re lucky if we get a postcard once a month - you have to let your chickens fly the hutch when they grown up and trust that one day they’ll come back home to roost.”

“Chickens don’t fly, Mum,” Newt says, his eyes twinkling, “And they live in coops, not hutches.” Ma would have slapped Credence across the face should he have dared to talk back to her, but Mrs Scamander merely swats at Newt playfully, and tells Credence about the rooster she’d had as a child who once got lost during a trip to Weymouth and managed to fly all the way back home.

She tells Credence to call her Athena, but it seems too disrespectful.

It’s Mrs Scamander who sets him up in one of the guest rooms - in the short time he’s been here, they’re already calling it “Credence’s room”. It’s she who takes him out to buy him proper clothing that fits, that’s just for him and that hasn’t been handed down from some charity box.

It’s Theseus, however who takes him to buy a wand.

Diagon alley is the most magical place Credence has ever been to, both figuratively and literally. Theseus takes him on a Tuesday afternoon, when it will be quieter, but there are still plenty of wizards there. Credence has to stop himself gawking at them in their hats and robes, and at the casual way they use their magic - after a month at the Scamander’s it’s still shocking to see outside.

“Close your mouth,” Theseus says with an amused smile. “You’ll let flies in.”

The Wand shop - Ollivanders - is a cramped little store with a layer of dust over everything. There are thin cardboard boxes piled high almost to the ceiling. A thin, gaunt faced boy close to Credence’s own age greets them at the door. He has pale eyes that gleam in the darkness.

“Ah, It’s Garrick, isn’t it?” Theseus says. “Is your Dad about?”

“Not today, Mr Scamander,” the boy says. “He leaves me to run the shop by myself when it’s quiet.”

“Doesn’t time fly?” Theseus says cheerfully looking around. “I hadn’t realised you’d finished at Hogwarts, and here you are running the shop. You know I still remember coming here to get my first wand.”

Garrick smiles thinly. “And how can I help you today, Mr Scamander?”

“Er - this is - well, I suppose you’re old enough. Your Dad and I have an understanding between us. Occasionally there’s a need for myself or one of my associates to make a purchase from your establishment that requires an elevated level of discretion shall we say?”

Garrick nods. “I understand. Yes, of course.” He looks Credence up and down and Credence has the uncomfortable feeling that he’s looking straight through him. “Will it be for Mr - ah - never mind - your associate?”

“Good lad, you catch on quick. Yes, it’s for him. Less questions asked, the better. Treat him like he’s eleven and it's the weekend before Hogwarts.”

“Like he’s never had a wand before,” Garrick says shrewdly. “As you wish, sir.”

He brings out a selection of cases and lays them on the table. Credence looks at them, and then at Theseus uncertainly.  Garrick hands one to him. “Ash and Phoenix feather, ten inches.“

Credence takes the wand and hopes that Ollivander doesn’t notice the tremor in his hands.

Nothing happens.

“Give it a shake,” suggests Theseus.   

Credence does though his heart is sinking. Perhaps he isn’t a wizard after all. Maybe Mr Graves - or the man he’d thought was Mr Graves  -  was right and he really is a squib.

The wand emits a loud bang and a puff of smoke.

“Well, we’d hardly be so lucky for you to find one on the first try,” Theseus says. He coughs and fans the smoke away from his face with his hand. “Phew!”

“Try this one, sir. Oak and dragon heartstring,” Garrick says, and perhaps he sees the anxiety in Credence’s face because he adds: “My father says that the wand chooses the wizard. When it’s the right one, we’ll know.”

In the end it takes thirty eight tries before one chooses him, and Credence is so relieved he could weep.

“Interesting combination,” Garrick says, giving him a thoughtful look. “Rowan and unicorn hair.”

“Quite,” Theseus says. “And again I know this is a bit unorthodox, old chap, but I really am going to need your discretion on this one.”

Credence pretends not to notice the uneasy glance Theseus sends his way, opting instead to admire his new eleven and a half inch wand.

“I’ll take full responsibility should it be needed,” Theseus says quietly to the wandmaker.

“I shouldn’t worry, Mr Scamander,” Garrick says. “As my father says: no wizard with a rowan wand ever turned dark. At least, not one purchased from Ollivander’s”

 

* * *

 

There are very few rules in the Scamander household.

Credence can wake when he wants.

Ma had always had him up at four thirty to start his chores and help with preparing food for day, but here he has no real work to do. There are house elves who do the cleaning and the cooking and they don’t take it kindly when Credence tries to do anything himself.

He rises early out of habit but no one pays any mind should he wake later in the day. The first time he oversleeps it’s after a late night spent helping Newt tend to a sick Bandersnatch. He runs downstairs in a panic when he realises it's past mid-day, but Newt only gives him a bewildered look at his apologies.

“We had nothing planned,” Newt says. “And yesterday was pretty full on. Why shouldn’t you have a lie in? You’ve missed breakfast but Cherry will feed you if you’re hungry. Speaking of, if you’re going to the kitchens you might ask her to bring me a sandwich.”

There’s no set time for meals. Everyone eats when they like and when it’s convenient. The first week, Credence would simply skip a meal if no-one offered him one - he was already eating far more than he was used to.

After a few days of this Cherry, the head house elf, had marched up to Mrs Scamander and complained about how their guest was clearly wasting away. Mrs Scamander had given her a nonplussed smile and suggested that Cherry shouldn’t wait for orders but just feed him three times a day, so now if Credence doesn’t eat with one or more of the family he finds that meals will simply appear next to him.

He goes down to the kitchens to thank the elves, and ends up leaving with a plate of sandwiches, half a dozen scones and an entire cake. Cherry seems to have made it her personal mission to bring his weight up to an acceptable level.

He can come and go as he likes. Theseus gives him a set of keys and says that he’s been added to the wards and that's the end of that.

The Scamander brothers are both early risers. Theseus by virtue of his job and Newt because of his creatures.

If Credence wakes before dawn, he’ll usually find Theseus in the dining room reading the papers and eating a huge breakfast.

“Oh hullo,” he’ll say and wave Credence inside. “Sit down and have a kipper.”

It isn’t always a kipper, depending on the day he’ll offer Credence a sausage, or a piece of bacon or toast.

He’ll quiz Credence on what he’s learnt so far and offers pointers. (“Hold your wand further down.”  “Enunciate, lad, don’t mumble.” “Try a shorter downward stroke on the O-sa .”)

Newt will usually join them part way through. If he doesn’t, that means he’s busy with one of his creatures or that he’s spent all night working on the second draft of his book and is now asleep.

After breakfast, he’ll help Newt tend to his creatures. There’s always so much to do. While they work, Newt will help him practice simple spells, and teach him about his beasts.

He tells him stories of his travels and Credence enjoys his tales of magical beasts and adventures.

After the creatures have all been seen to, Newt will go into his study to work on editing his book and Credence goes to the library.

Mrs Scamander has taken it upon herself to formalise his learning. “After all,” she says, “I taught Newt myself after he was expelled after his little incident and he made it through his NEWTs just fine. We could do a lot worse together”

She gives him Newt and Theseus’ old school things to work with. She’s teaching him the basics of transfiguration, charms and potions making, but her favourite subject to teach is herbology.

It turns out that she’s a world famous herbologist, and when she was younger she’d gone on just as many explorations and expeditions as Newt. If it’s a fine day she’ll take him out into the gardens and show him how to care for the many magical and not so magical plants growing there.

He enjoys gardening. It’s peaceful and he likes helping things grow.

After a few hours of study with Mrs Scamander, he’s free to do as he likes. He can practice spells, brew his own potions or just read one of the hundreds of books in the house. He can go and spend time with the creatures - he likes the Mooncalves most of all. He can leave the house and go for walks in the countryside or visit the nearby village.

They even give him an allowance that he’s free to spend on anything he wants.

Credence tries not to think of Mr Graves. He tries to keep his mind occupied at all times, but now and then his thoughts will drift towards him. Had he ever known the real Mr Graves? Or had it always been the imposter?

It doesn’t help that Theseus had known the man, so now and again he’ll open up his mail and sigh something like, “Still no sign of Graves. Where the devil can that bastard have stashed him?”

And he tries not to think about the time he’d overheard Newt and Theseus talking about him late at night.

Something had woken Credence that night. He’d only meant to go to the kitchens for a warm drink, and he’d seen the light on in Newt’s study.

The door was open a crack and he’d heard the brothers talking. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop but he stopped when he heard his name and crept closer.

“- but you haven’t learnt anything from it, have you?” Theseus was saying. “It just floats around like a bad mood.”

“I just need to find a way to - I was so close Theseus. I could have saved her, I know it. And I know I can save him.”

Theseus sighed. “We can save him - but only by teaching him how to control his - how to control it. You can’t remove it from him, Newt. Not without killing him.”

“I know it’s never been done before - “

“With good reason. I’ve studied Obscurials just as much as you and we don’t know enough about them. We don’t even know what the effect on the host would be. What if he lost his magic altogether?”

“We don’t know that.”

“We don’t know anything, Newton, that’s the point. You can’t experiment on people, It’s inhumane.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Have you talked to Credence about it? What does he want to do?”

“A little and he was… he didn’t really answer.”

“He’s good at that. How the devil did he find us? Did he give you a straight answer on that?”

“He said he asked for directions but that’s all I was able to get out of him.”

“Ask him again.”

“About his Obscurus or how he got here?”

“Both. Either. I like him, I do, it’d be hard not to, but -” Theseus had stopped then, and looked towards the door and Credence had crept away, his ears burning.  
He’d braced himself for a confrontation the following morning, but it never came.

Other than that moment, and a few sleepless nights, where he thinks of Mr Graves or his mother and sisters, he thinks he’s happy here.

There are very few rules in the Scamander household, but the few that there are are simple enough.

Don’t wake Mrs Scamander before eleven, not even if the house is on fire. They’re all grown men and should be able to put it out on their own.

Theseus’ study is out of bounds. Newt’s isn't, and neither are his work shed or the suitcase, but can Credence please resist any urges he has to tidy up.

Don’t get too close to the erumpent. Or to the Obscurus. Credence doesn’t need to be told this twice. He never wants to go near that thing if he can help it. It makes him uncomfortable to think how very nearly could have shared the same fate.

And the last, most curious rule of all - stay away from the circular patch of dark grass at the end of the back garden.

 

* * *

  
There are places where the borders between our world and _Faerie_ are thin. They can be avoided if you know what to look for. An oddly shaped stone in the centre of a field, mushrooms or toadstools growing in a ring in the grass, a clear blue pool that no animals will drink from. There are certain trees that must never be chopped down, certain hills that should never be climbed after dark.

And true, there is an ancient Covenant between the Fae and Wizardkind that prevents them from causing wizards and witches much trouble.  one forged in the time of Merlin and Morgan Le Fey. Some say it was they themselves who agreed the terms, but it was so long ago that no one can precisely remember who did or what in fact the exact terms are. It means the Fae will avoid wizards when they can, but still it doesn’t pay to get too complacent where the fair folk are concerned.

Beware of paths that can only be seen on nights when the moon is full. Be wary of lights that appear where they have no business being. If you hear you mother, or a friend or a lover calling to you when you know they should be elsewhere, keep your head down and ignore it, walk away at a steady pace. Run, if it’s someone you know to be dead.

There are many ways into _Faerie_ , and one of them is at the far end of Newt’s back garden.

The fairy-ring isn’t much to look at. All it is is an innocent circle where the grass grows a few shades darker than the rest of the lawn.

And Newt should know better. He should have known better.

 

* * *

 

Newt is trying to gently approach the subject of what happened to Credence after that December night in a New York subway station, and Credence, as usual, is being deliberately obtuse about it.

“It’s almost April,” Newt says. “And you’ve been with us how long now? When did you come to stay?”

“February,” Credence says absently. He’s brushing Simon, the Nundu’s, coat and the creature purrs and rolls over on his back to let Credence brush his belly.

Newt had been a little worried at how the creatures might react to Credence, they certainly steer clear of the other Obscurus, but he needn’t have worried. Credence is a natural when it comes to taking care of animals. In fact, he sometimes seems to prefer their company to other people’s. Newt doesn’t blame him for it. It’s a sentiment he understands all too well.

“Right,” Newt says. “So let’s say it would have taken you a few weeks to make the journey - I just wondered - all that unpleasantness happened in December, so - “

“Did you leave the case open?” Credence says frowning. He looks towards the ladder and Newt follows his gaze. “No, I definitely shut it,” he says. “Oh bugger! Basil!” he calls scrambling up the ladder. “Get back here! Keep an eye on the rest of them, Credence! I’ll catch that blasted niffler,” he shouts over his shoulder, barely waiting to listen to Credence’s answering shout before shutting and fastening the case tight. It won’t do to have any of the others escaping.  

He looks frantically about the house until he sees Theseus’s study door’s wide open and _Merlin’s Beard!_  Theseus is going to be livid if he finds out Basil’s been in there.

Newt rushes in to see the creature slipping Theseus’ pocket watch into his pouch.

“Basil!” he scolds. “You give that back!”

Basil squeaks at him defiantly and darts between Newt’s legs. He heads straight out the open window and Newt is going to go out and buy a cage! He’s going to put a collar on that thing and keep him leashed up.

“Basil!”

Newt rushes out into the garden. He has to catch Basil before he disappears into the woods. He’s hand reared and doesn’t know how to fend for himself. And for all the trouble he causes Newt doesn’t want him to get hurt. He sees the niffler climbing up into the oak tree at the end of the garden, and he’s in such a hurry to get to him that he doesn’t realise he’s stepped into the faerie circle until it’s too late and he’s staring at the pointy end of a spear.

 

* * *

  

“I don’t suppose it would make a difference if I said I didn’t believe in faeries?” Newt jokes feebly as his hands are tied behind his back and he’s led away by the border guard who is strangely birdlike in voice as well as appearance. He has beady black eyes and a pointed beak like nose and a pair of starling’s wings grow out of his back.

The sentry cuffs the back of Newt’s head in reply, so he supposes it doesn’t.

Newt’s dragged along, rougher than necessary - he must have annoyed the guard - and shoved to his knees, his head pushed down. The guard twitters to someone else in a language that sounds a lot like bird song, and then a voice asks in English -

“And what brings a wizard to _Faerie_ ? Do you think the Covenant will keep you from harm if you’ve come here to wreak havok?”

The voice is vaguely familiar, which isn’t too surprising. The Fae often affect familiarity to make themselves look and sound more attractive to those they wish to beguile. What  is surprising is that the voice sounds American - Newt can’t help looking up - straight into the face of Percival Graves.

A very young Percival Graves.The last time Newt had seen him, or Grindelwald transfigured as him, he’d been middle-aged, this Graves is no more than a boy. He looks like he’s barely out of Ilvermorny.

He wears a crown made of leaves and branches woven into his hair, and more alarmingly has a pair of black wings growing out of his back. Newt identifies them as raven’s wings, only much larger. He doesn’t wear a shirt but has an ornate chest piece that looks more decorative than able to afford any protection. Then again, in _Faerie_ , looks can be deceptive, more so than anywhere else.

“You?” Newt gasps. “What are you doing here?”

The boy who looks like Graves blinks at him. His eyes are more human than any other faerie that Newt’s met, and in his travels he’s met quite a few, but they still have an unearthly brightness to them. His pupils are blown wide and sparkling and his irises are a thin band, so dark brown they look black.

“I guard the borders from the likes of you,” he says.

The bird like sentry chirrups curiously. “Do you know this wizard, Peredur y Beddau?” he says and the faerie boy hisses at him in annoyance.

“Silence, fool! Hold your tongue! It doesn’t do to speak too freely in front of wizards.”

“But -” Newt says. “You _are_ a wizard. Aren’t you? I mean you were.”

The boy who looks like Graves, unfurls his wings; they’re even bigger fully open. He stands over Newt like he’s an avenging angel.  

"Do I look like a wizard to you?”

“Not exactly,” Newt admits. “But you do look a lot like a wizard I used to - well, I suppose I didn’t know him. I don’t know if he ever existed.”

The boy steps closer to Newt and crouches down in front of him, Newt looks at the ground, the faerie boy’s burning bright eyes are too much for him to bear. It hurts even more than usual to try to maintain eye contact. Newt hunches away as he feels the boy rake his eyes over him.

“Take him back and let him go,” the boy says to the sentry. “He’s not worth the trouble. It’s not our season. Let the Summer Court deal with him.”

As he rises to his feet, Newt notices the long, sharp blade fastened to the left of his waist. And the wand at his right.

“If you aren’t a wizard,” Newt says, “why do you have a wand?”

“On second thoughts,” the boys says, the impressive familiar eyebrows knotting together in annoyance. “Maybe I _should_ kill you.”

“Percival Graves,” Newt says quickly. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Your name is Percival Graves.”

The sentry twitters in surprise and the boy sighs. He closes his eyes as if he’s deeply disappointed. It reminds Newt of being in the interrogation room with the other man - if this is the real Percival Graves, then Grindelwald really had his mannerisms down.

“Hold him,” the boy says to the sentry and Newt finds himself bound even tighter. The sentry forces his head up.

Graves pulls out his dagger and pricks his own finger with just a touch. He rubs the blood between his finger and thumb and grins wickedly at Newt, his mouth full of teeth sharper than any human’s has any right to be. Newt recoils and the boy laughs in delight. His teeth go back to normal and of course he was using a _glamour_ , toying with Newt for his own amusement.

“If you kill me it means that you break the Covenant,” Newt says desperately. “Take me before your King and Queen - I’ve met them, they’ll vouch for me. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I do,” the boy says. “It’s unfortunate, but _dyna fel y mae hi_.”

He lunges forward and slashes the sentry’s throat.

The sentry gurgles as he falls back and Newt’s paralysed with shock as he’s sprayed with warm blood. The boy grabs Newt’s hair and pulls him to his feet. He holds his dagger still wet from the sentry’s blood under Newt’s chin and forces him to watch as the sentry bleeds out.  

“This is on you,” he hisses in Newt’s ear. “What was I supposed to do? You can’t go around saying people’s true names and expect there to be no consequences.”

The sentry finally stops twitching and Percival Graves pushes Newt away from him. Newt stumbles a few steps and is violently sick.

“Ugh,” Graves says. He wipes his bloody dagger on the grass and reattaches it to his belt. Then he takes out his wand and incinerates the body.

“I don’t want him coming back,” he explains. “They’re always so mad when they do. Now, if you’re done, let's go.”

“Go where?” Newt croaks.

“Upstairs, downstairs,” Graves says. “To my Lady’s chamber. You did ask to see the King and Queen, didn’t you?”

Graves takes Newt roughly by the arm. “And say my name out loud again, wizard, and Covenant be damned, it’ll be your neck I cut next.”

 

* * *

  
“I’m Newt,” Newt offers as a way of placating Graves.

“Newt?” the boy side-eyes him. “Does that mean the same thing in wizard as it does to us?”

“I imagine so,” Newt says.

“That’s a fine enough name for a pixie but it ain’t a wizard’s name,” Graves says. “You know my true name. It’s only fair that I know yours.” He gives Newt a smile that’s both friendly and charming. Newt’s seen that smile before, turned upon Tina. He’d hadn’t realised quite how appealing it was when he was the one on the receiving end.

“I would, but the thing is I wouldn’t use your name maliciously, Perci - “

“Shut up!” Graves snarls at him. He looks around wildly. “Any fucking idiot could hear you.”

“Sorry,” Newt apologises. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Graves mutters.

“What should I call you?” Newt says reasonably. “What did the guard call you before you - er - “

“Killed him?” the boy sneers. “That was your fault. They call me Peredur y Beddau.”

Newt’s about to protest that Percival or Peredur didn’t have to kill the poor sentry, but he has a feeling that there’s nothing he can say that will change faerie-Graves’ mind.  

“Alright, Peredur then. Do you mind me asking - how long have you lived in _Faerie_ ?”

“Oh, always,” Graves says.

“But you can’t have!” Newt says. “ You’re - look, you have a wand, don't you? Where did you get it? How did you learn to use it?”

Graves cocks his head on one side and looks at Newt, his bright eyes blinking. He fingers his mouth, tugs at his lower lip and then gnaws on it.

“How much do you weigh?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s too far to walk, and I’ve never dropped anyone before, but you look heavy.”

“What do you - “

“I probably won’t drop you,” Graves says. “But try not to wriggle, would you Newt? It puts me off.”

He unfurls his wings, grabs Newt by the upper arms and launches into the air.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags & Ratings will update as the work progresses.


End file.
